


Drop Dead, Gorgeous

by williamastankova



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Angst, Attraction, Billy thinks Steve is pretty, Flirting, Fluff and Angst, Gay Billy Hargrove, Light Angst, M/M, pretty, pretty boy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-02
Updated: 2019-05-20
Packaged: 2019-10-02 12:26:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,428
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17264198
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/williamastankova/pseuds/williamastankova
Summary: Steve confronts Billy about why he always calls him pretty.





	1. Chapter 1

He hadn't meant much by it. Really, it was best classified as an 'off comment', because he had said it - had always said it, in fact - in passing. It wasn't _quite_  a mistake as such, but nearly. It was just so difficult... sure, he'd tease Steve, and he'd try to humiliate him in small ways, and he'd always try to keep any sort of softness out of his voice when he spoke to him, but speaking to him involved looking at him, so it was unavoidable. He was just so...

"Pretty." Steve spoke for him, interrupting his internal monologue, "Why do you always say that?"

They'd been caught at the Byers', with Billy somehow now involved in the crack life that Steve - and, apparently, everybody else in Hawkins - led. Seriously, aliens? Monsters? Psychic middle-schoolers? This was insane. So, anyway, he and Steve had been paired to man the base while the others went out, splitting into slightly smaller groups as they completed varying tasks. Really, it was probably boredom that led Billy to saying it, the more he thought about it, because the only thing he'd had to do was watch Steve, and then he'd caught sight of him brushing back his hair as he bent down to fix a panel. It slipped from his mouth, and now he was paying for it.

"Billy?" Steve broke into his mind again, making him realise he hadn't replied yet.  
He shrugged, trying to be as nonchalant as possible as he said, "I dunno, man. I just got confused."  
"Confused about what?" Steve almost sounded like he was laughing. "Your sexuality?"  
"Whatever, Steve."

Billy stalked off, in search of something - _anything_  - that needed doing, or repairing, that could take him away from the situation. Predictably, there was nothing. Absolutely nada, so Steve had every single right to continue talking to him as he did, which both annoyed and terrified Billy beyond belief.  
"I didn't mean it like that. It's just..." he pondered briefly, and finished, "You say it a lot."

"No I don't." Billy's traitor mouth piped in defensively once more, and he cursed to himself.  
"Uh, yeah, you do." Steve countered, this time definitely letting a smirk slip. "You always say I'm a 'pretty boy', or that I'm lucky I'm 'so pretty'."  
"Hey, that's only when I'm gonna pound your face in." He tried once more to dispel Steve's strange - and all too true - train of thought with a vague attempt at dry, frank humour, but swallowed hard when the other boy shook his head, obviously disagreeing with him.

"It's not just that. You do it a lot, like in the showers after practice." Steve eyed him suspiciously, "Billy, I really don't think it's just-"  
"Shh." He hushed, adding emphasis with a raised finger and furrowed brows, "Do you hear that?"  
"Hear what-"

Then, obviously having heard what Billy was on about, Steve shut up, and Billy was grateful. As the noise continued, he knew that, regardless of how scary the source of the sound was, it wouldn't be any more dreadful than the thought of finishing their previous conversation. He thanked the alien-science gods he had cursed for so long for taking the attention off of his strange habit, and listened as the noise seemed to grow louder. He turned to face it, and readied his weapon, holding it securely with both hands.

As he drew slowly back, so he stood in the middle of the room, he felt a soft bump into his back, and realised he had collided with Steve. Not wanting to give away their location just yet, he gave a small nod of acknowledgement, and turned his attention back to the sound. The rustling grew louder, and Billy assumed it was in the foliage nearby the house, and so he prepared to fight. He adjusted his grip on the bat, and the leaves stopped shaking. Then, there was a creak, and Billy knew it was near enough.

Adrenaline began pumping through his veins, and he loved it - he even began feeling a little light-headed with the mix of euphoria and excitement of the chase. With a smirk, he proclaimed, "It's go time, pretty boy. Hope you're feeling lucky." and winked back at Steve, then focused his attention on the entity that flung itself at them, knowing he had a duty to do, so Steve could remain so pretty. And so, it seemed, that was just the right fighting motivation he needed.

They could sort through their mess later anyway.


	2. Nervous

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After the fight, Billy patches Steve up. This, to his dismay, provides the perfect time for Steve to confront him once again.

The thing - whatever it was, Billy still can't really name it, despite that they've been fighting hoards of them for a decent amount of time now - doesn't go down without a fight. To give it credit, it deals pretty well with their attacks, and even throws out a few good ones of its own in return. Eventually, though, it goes down, and Billy can finally look around to see Steve, where he's fallen into a crouched position in the corner of the room. He looks pretty bad, with blood on his face, but nothing too critical - at least not that Billy can tell just yet. Still, he rummages quickly around the Byers' house, and manages to find a half-empty emergency medical kit and a three-quarters full bottle of whiskey.  
_Good enough_ , he thinks.

Returning to Steve, who's now propped himself against the wall as he cradles his undoubtedly throbbing head, Billy puts his supplies on the floor and gets to work. He starts first by examining Steve's scalp, as he thinks it best to work down (oh lord, if he wasn't concerned for Steve right now, he'd be so nervous), and runs his fingers through Steve's famous locks to manoeuvre his head so he can look everywhere. Thankfully, the top of his head is unscathed (rather unfunnily, he thinks to himself that even the monster knows not to damage Steve's perfect head of hair), so he goes to attend the obvious cut on his forehead. He'd relatively amazed Steve hasn't fought back at him at all by now, but when the other boy snaps his eyes open and stares into his soul, Billy's pretty sure that's just because he's physically (and mentally?) unable to.

"Dude," he breaks the silence after a moment, "Can you stop that?"  
"Stop what?" Billy's pretty sure Steve purposefully stares at him even more, widening his eyes, making it nearly impossible for him to focus on the task at hand.  
"Stop staring at me like that," he gestures to Steve's face, then feigns a shudder to empasise that, "It's creepy."

Steve lets out a chuckle, then lets up on the staring. Looking more like himself, he murmurs something that Billy doesn't catch. He sighs, then gives into his own curiosity and finally asks, "What?"  
"I said, you don't find me pretty anymore then?"

Yep, Steve was definitely screwing with him. Well, at least somewhat, anyway. He had been attacked, Billy knew for sure, because he took enough damage for the two of them, but he was faking the delusional effects it had on him. He had to be, anyway, because somebody with actual brain damage wouldn't have remembered such a short conversation from before the fight. Billy forced himself to roll his eyes, then said:  
"No, Steve. You're still very pretty, don't worry."

Billy had meant it as satire, but the grin Steve gave him still managed to send a flurry of butterflies through his stomach. It wasn't like he was _lying_  - even with his bloodied face, Billy could still see Steve's gentle yet undeniably masculine features. He quickly traced the outline of his face with his eyes, then marveled at how he could see Steve's unshaven stubble even in the darkened room. He dared not linger on Steve's lips too much - not yet, anyway, because he'd have enough trouble keeping it strictly medical later when he had to clean them. Point being, Steve looked pretty still, but in a rougher way. He was sort of pretty in the way cacti were pretty (or, well, at least to Billy they were). Regardless, he was taken by surprise by how genuine Steve's reaction had seemed.

He cleared his throat, and picked up the alcohol he'd left by his leg. Thrusting it into Steve's hand, he raised it to his mouth and whispered, voice higher than he had expected, "Drink."

Wordlessly, Steve obeyed, wrapping his lips around the lip of the bottle and tipped his head back, grimacing when the liquor burned as it went down his throat. Swallowing, he put it back down and nodded, letting Billy know he was okay to start. He began by wiping the blood off of Steve's forehead and applying trying his best to sterilise it. Knowing how much it hurt when this was done, he decided to try to busy Steve's mind to detract from the pain.  
"So," he thinks quickly of a topic of conversation, "What's next?"

"What's next," Steve barks out a weak laugh, "Maybe sort this mess out, then wait for the others to get back."  
"Hmm," Billy hums as he works, "Then what?"  
"Eleven said she can take it on, after we've got everything we need." Steve explains, then diverges, with a hint of a sing-song tone in his voice, "You still didn't answer my question."

Something within Billy drops to his feet. Whether it's his stomach or his heart, he doesn't know, but he immediately knows where this conversation is headed. Alarms start in his head, and he slips as he dabs a cream onto one of Steve's wounds, and he doesn't think he's ever felt worse in his life than he does when he hears the little pained noise Steve makes. Swallowing hard, he forces himself to act natural.

"You've asked a lot of questions."  
"I mean from before," Steve acknowledges, staring at him while he refuses to return the gesture. "You didn't tell me why you always call me pretty."

Damn.  
He really couldn't catch a break, could he?

"Why do you wanna know, Harrington?"  
"I'm interested." Steve said plainly.  
He forced himself to chuckle, though it sounded forced. "It's not that serious."  
"Then why don't you tell me?"

Shit. With Steve looking at him with those big, doughy eyes, he was in real trouble. He knew he only had a matter of time before he let something slip, and so he ignored the stare and moved on to the side of Steve's face. With a hand firmly cupping his cheek, he moved Steve's head so he could see the cut going vertically down, perpendicular to his cheekbone. When he started cleaning it, Steve hissed in his breath. Unfortunately for Billy, this wasn't enough of a distraction to stop him talking.

"It's okay, you know." Steve spoke softer this time, "If you're..."  
He didn't have to finish. Billy knew already what he was going to say. "I'm not."  
"Alright, well, I'm just saying," Steve continued, and Billy felt sick. "If you were, it's okay, man. You don't have to worry."

It felt strange, talking to the side of Steve's face. Billy nodded, looking into the crimson wound and trying to avoid any further conversation, at least about that. It wasn't like he was _afraid_  of talking to Steve about it. It was just... if it managed to get back to his dad in any way, he'd be in deep shit, and that was to say the least. His dad wasn't accepting. He knew times were changing, but he'd still made an impression on Billy, so he tried his best to avoid any sort of discussions along those lines.

"What happened with you and Nancy?"  
He hadn't meant to ask it, not really. It was just... he'd been racking his brain for something to say, and that had happened to be the most obvious thing. After all, she was working with them, and it wasn't like they hadn't spoken about it before, but for some reason he felt immeasurably guilty when the words came from his mouth. So, he did something he'd never done in his life.

"Sorry, man." He apologised sincerely, not ten seconds after having asked it, "You don't have to answer that."  
"It's cool," Steve's voice was tense, but he went on, "She... well, no. I wasn't great, to be honest. She deserved better, and when she realised, she got it. Jonathan's good to her, you know? Better for her in ways I don't know how to be."

Billy moved to the other side and, upon seeing no markings, centered Steve's face again, so he was looking into his eyes. He grabbed a wet wipe and ran it over his lips, clearing it of smeared blood, and then he moved down. Noticing a mark on Steve's chest, he gulped and tugged at the neckline of his shirt, muttering a barely audible, "Uh, can you take this off?"

Steve smirked at him, "Buy me dinner first."  
Feeling a little more comfortable, Billy laughed, and bowed his head, looking up at Steve through his eyelashes, "Yeah, but when a boy's as pretty as you, I can't wait that long."  
"So you admit it?"

Billy looked back up into Steve's eyes, switching from one to the other as he admired the shine of mirth they both contained. For some silly, inexplicable reason, he felt glad, and then he began to heat up as a sense of anticipation overwhelmed him. He cast a look down at Steve's lips and, just as he began teetering forward on his heels, Steve removed his shirt, pulling it over his head, and Billy lost both sight of his target and whatever confidence he had managed to build up.

Going back to his initial task, Billy scoured Steve's chest for marks. To his dismay, it didn't take long at all: Steve was covered in a variety of markings, some cuts and even some bruises, likely from where he had been flung around a bit in the process of fighting. Billy took to work on what little he could do for the cuts, starting at one at the top of his chest. He sucked in a breath at how he could feel Steve's rib cage through his skin.

"You should eat more." He stated, too worried to be embarrassed by how his concern showed through his tone of voice. "You're skin and bones."  
"Pretty skin and bones?"

Billy cracked a smile at Steve's joke. He figured it was okay to laugh now because he'd be around Steve a lot in coming time, so he could make sure he ate more. He shook his head, trying to seem disapproving, and moved on to the next injury. Steve breathed as he tried not to wince at the inspection of his body, and it seemed he'd finally picked up on Billy's tactic of talking to reduce pain intensity.

"How come you haven't dated anyone here yet?"

Billy pondered for a moment, considering how to best answer the question, and settled for, "I haven't been here long."  
"It's been a year, Billy." Steve stated, looking down at him as he quickly cleaned up a cluster of smaller cuts. "That's long enough for anyone - especially you."

Without drawing back, Billy's ears perked up and he repeated Steve's words. "Especially me?"  
He could have sworn he heard Steve swallow before he said, "Yeah."

One side of Billy's mouth was tugged up, making him smirk. "What's that supposed to mean, Harrington?"  
"Who says it meant anything?" Steve retorted, making Billy look up at him. There was a new sensation between them - one Billy hadn't experienced before - and it send a shrill down his spine. "Well, actually, maybe it did."

"Oh?" He countered, sitting up now, having almost finished with Steve's chest. His voice was gravelly as he inquired, "And what's that?"  
Steve eyed him, then looked at his mouth before darting his eyes back up to Billy's. "I mean, who's saying I'm the only pretty thing around here?"

Billy chuckled, somewhat evilly. So, here they were, in the darkened Byers' house, sat on the floor beside a bottle of Jack and a ravaged first-aid kit, seemingly both flirting. Billy had never felt more enticed by anybody in his lifetime. He looked down at Steve's lips, proud of how much better they looked without the bloodstain on them, then dropped the cotton ball he had been holding. Bringing his hand up to Steve's face, he paused only momentarily, then brushed back a loose strand of hair behind Steve's ear. He lingered, his touch feeling ignited as he rested against the other boy's hot skin, and once more he started tipping forward on his heels, ready for them to connect, and then-

Lights.  
From outside, the squeaking of a car could be heard, and Billy cursed his instinct to look over at it. He stood, crossing the room to the window, then peeked out from behind the curtains to make sure it wasn't an ambush. It wasn't, as such, because he saw Hopper's van in the driveway with him and a couple of the kids inside. Then again, Billy still felt a little _something_  in his throat, as he knew he'd ran out of his alone time with Steve, at least for an undetermined period of time.

"Shit," he whispered, then saw in his peripheral vision that Steve stood slowly and put his shirt back on, he presumed so the rest wouldn't ask any awkward questions. He looked over at Billy, shot him a shy smile, and they individually prepared to greet the others and tell them what had happened.

 _Well_ , Billy thought slyly to himself,   _maybe not everything._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for reading part 2! also thanks to everyone who left a comment last time, it really helped me write this part. :)


	3. Resolution

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Resolution of the boys' tensions, after all... (?)

This whole thing is fucking bullshit.

Billy, despite common belief, likes to think of himself as a relatively patient guy. Well, strictly speaking, the most he does is wait for Max to get dressed and brush her hair in the morning, but it's more than people give him credit for. Now, though, after these weeks of hell and nothing else, he's hoping people will begin to see him in a better light - he's suffered enough for it, after all.

You see, he knew when he got himself involved in the whole alien business that it was never going to be smooth-sailing. There was always the risk of losing someone, including himself, and he was always willing to take that risk, time and time again. This time, though, something's different. He  _cares,_ as much as he hates to admit it, and his care is all centred around one stupid, pretty boy.

Steve Harrington was a strange case, at least for him. Yes, Billy could admit to himself that since the very first time they'd met he'd taken a liking to Steve, firstly because he was pretty, secondly because he had a reputation with what seemed like every single person in school. Things had changed, now, and Billy didn't know if it was for the better or for the worse. Now, every time they go out on a mission, every time they're put in separate cars while the whole gang drive somewhere together, every time he loses sight of Steve when they're being ambushed, he feels like his heart stops. Even though it's racing, he can't feel it. He feels empty, cold, until he sees Harrington again, and it's a feeling he's grown quickly to loathe.

He's a pretty boy. Undoubtedly, to girls and guys, Steve's face is appealing. It's just basic biology, Billy guesses that's what he's missed in all the lessons he's slept through, because he sees how everyone looks at him. Now they've been seeing each other more - not exactly 'hanging out', but speaking and interacting publicly without turning it into a spectacle of fighting - he sees that everywhere Steve goes, hoards of eyes follow him. He gets jealous, of course, but then he swiftly reminds himself that Steve isn't his, he'll never be.

That almost-kiss was a heat of the moment thing. Well, maybe not so much on his part, but Steve must have just been really out of it, or a serious light-weight, or something else that explained away why exactly he had tracked Billy's movements and made him watch Billy's lips like he wanted him. Oh, God, Billy had felt wanted, and it felt so right, for the first time in his life. That was the only thing he felt lately that he didn't hate.

There had been times since the almost-kiss that sent Billy's blood pumping so fast it elicited a firm pounding in his ears, so hard he could feel it in his throat. He could taste the iron swimming in his mouth whenever Steve so much as brushed up against him accidentally, and this was especially dangerous as whenever they'd be fighting together, he'd never keep his eyes on his own target, rather watching to see if Steve needed any help. He'd nearly died for it, too, because once a vile alien creature had jumped on him, and he'd only been saved by the skin of his teeth when Hopper shot the thing dead. He'd received quite the look for that, and a lecture later on, too.

Now, he's been put on babysitting duty. Of all of his roles since joining the team, there's no doubt in his mind that this is his least favourite. He's literally spent hours of his life just sat in the Byers' house watching the kids rush about, pretending to know everything (so, okay, maybe they know more than he does, whatever) and simultaneously pretend he's not there, like a phantom, and bugging the hell out of him. He's considering leaving to have a cigarette to cure his dulled mind, when Hopper and Joyce's pleas (or orders, depending on how you take it) that he not lose sight of any of them, under any circumstance.

He lets out a heavy sigh; this is going to be a long night.

He's been back and forth between the fridge and his seat about a hundred times in the last half hour, because there's literally jack shit else to do. He almost wishes an alien creature would dive through the front window and attempt to demolish them all, because at least that would give him something to do that was worth his time. He doesn't even know why he's been left here, considering he's the one who notoriously hates kids. Besides, he's pretty much just the brawn anyway - what else do they need him for, if not fighting?

It's then that there's a knock at the door. It's sharp, sudden, and it sends everybody into a frozen state, like statues. He inadvertently meets Max's eye and they both quirk an eyebrow at the same time, and he motions for her to stay silent. He slowly rises from his chair, crossing the room cautiously as he reaches for the nearest weapon (which, hells, is what he thinks is Steve's old bat, the moron) and then dares to breach the doorway leading to the front door. He can't breathe as he listens, but the knock doesn't come again.

Bat in hand, his hands are all but slipping and sliding down the wooden object. He's never been so nervous in his life: he hopes God hasn't decided to play a dirty trick on him by finally answering his prayers. If that's the case, as soon as he swings open the door he's going to come face-to-face with a devil-alien creature, and he decides then and there that he takes it all back - everything he said - and declares himself a complete and utter fool, as if that's going to save him from whatever dreadful fate awaits him out there.

Like ripping off a band-aid, he summons up every ounce of courage he has contained within him, and tries (fails) not to yell in some war-cry as he suddenly pulls open the Byers' front door. He's got the bat ready over his head, ready to crush and destroy whatever monster lies out there, and somebody's cry from behind him signals that he shouldn't continue with this blind action. He has to physically restrain himself when he sees who's standing out there, freezing their ass off, watching him almost kill them.

"Billy?" Steve sounds genuinely terrified, and Billy feels sincerely bad for having made him so understandably frightened.

"Steve," he makes himself sound annoyed at the boy, then chucks the bat to the side and ushers him inside the house with a firm grip on his shoulder, "What are you doing here, man? You're meant to be with the rest of them."

"They said they didn't need me," Steve shrugs, like that makes any sense whatsoever, "Hopper told me that I had to head back to check on the rest of you guys."

Billy doesn't miss how the kids' faces light up at the prospect of a new babysitter, though part of him wishes he had done. He feels upset, which is unreasonable as he didn't want the job in the first place and should be glad Steve's here to take on the role, but he does anyway. His heart sinks.

"Oh, great," he feigns nonchalance, then heads back across the room and flings himself onto the couch, noticing how the others fail to notice his deflated manner as he does so. He speaks to nobody as he says, "Welcome to the club."

The night just got even longer.

**

Some distant part of him grows ever larger as it demands him to raid the Byers' fridge in the hopes of finding a beer stashed somewhere within the frozen peas and wedges. He refrains, however, and takes instead to watching the blank static of the newly-broken TV across from him. Every so often, he lets out a dismal sigh, letting the world know of his utmost boredom and dismay. This, it seems, does not work in his favour, as the world continues as normal - hell on earth - and for the longest time nobody comes to visit him in his artificial night-corner.

Then, out of the blue, there's a sudden pressure on the arm of the chair when somebody flings themselves to sit beside him. Steve, he sees when he looks over, is fumbling about for the remote, like if he finds it it'll magically work and fix the TV. He gives up eventually, and joins Billy in his sad state, listening to the routine crackling. Even Billy has to admit, though, that when Steve enters his dark little world, things don't seem quite as bad as they did when he was alone.

He ponders for a moment, wondering which of them is going to break the quiet first. He doesn't have to wonder for very long, when his mouth opens and his traitorous tongue and mind conspire against him in order to make him speak.

"How're the kids?"

The worst part about it, Billy concludes, is how average it sounds. It's the sort of thing he's heard his parents say to people in the street he doesn't think he's ever seen in his life, when the interaction is inevitable. It's the kind of thing he knows old flames say to one another when they've both apparently moved on, but still can't quite get the other out of their heads, even years later. He hates how impersonal it sounds, but he knows this distance is the safest precaution to take for the both of them.

"Bored," Steve laughs breathily, casting a look down at him, "Aren't you?"

A part of Billy feels vulnerable. Under Steve's intense, dark gaze, he can't quite figure out what that's meant to mean. He wants to be his usual cocky self, taunting and teasing Steve, making fun of him, bringing up horrible parts of Steve's past to detract from those of his own.  He wants them to forget they ever nearly kissed - wants Steve to forget he ever had Billy in such a compromising, unsafe position - and he wants most of all for things to go back to how they were, even if he doesn't really.

Despite all of these greatly coherent, philosophical thoughts racing around his mind, the most he can manage to form is a short, hollow, "Yeah."

Steve eyes him for a moment longer, then drops his gaze to his lips and says, "Me too."

Billy instinctively licks his lips. Even if he doesn't think Steve's going to kiss him - doesn't want him to - he's seen this moment in enough shows and movies to know what's supposed to come next. Even though he knows they're not characters, that this is real life and things like that just don't happen in reality, he wants to feel prepared, just in case the universe decides to be kind to him for once in his godforsaken life.

Steve looks conflicted. His eyes linger on Billy's lips, uncertain, but then - as Billy predicted - he looks away, back at the static, re-immersing Billy into the empty room. He can faintly hear Mike and Dustin bickering over something undoubtedly minor, but he's grateful they're distracted, at least for now. Even if they're not going to kiss, Billy just wants this moment alone with Steve, a moment for them to be real without having to say anything or put on any facades. As long as they can be together now, Billy will feel sated.

There's something about Steve's profile that looks guilty, though Billy can't quite put a finger on his as he watches him look away absently. He doesn't have time to think of another topic of conversation - or a way to further the one they had been having previously - before Steve's speaking again, though.

"Sorry you got into all of this, man," he apologises, sounding actually upset with himself and the situation and, in typical teenager fashion, the world, "if I could take everything back, I would, you know."

Billy's mouth runs dry after the forbidden word falls from his mouth, into his lap, spilling over into Steve's. "Everything?"

Steve's eyes are suddenly back on his, and it seems he's having the same thought process as Billy in that very moment:  _did he really just say that?_ Billy wishes, having not learned anything the first time around about putting macabre desires into words, that the ground would open up and swallow him whole. He wants to disappear then and there, because Steve's giving him a look, but it's not like the one he was giving him a moment ago, where he felt wanted. Something about it makes Billy feel judged, even though he knows Steve wouldn't ever do that - would he?

His mind is roaring, protesting, screaming at him, and he can't form a coherent sentence. He awaits Steve's response, bordering on shaking with fright, and he has to admit that he's relieved, if not a little disappointed, when Steve simply says, "Yeah, I guess."

Billy doesn't push it. He doesn't really want to, because if he pushes it he might take it too far, and then only God knows where he'd end up. Instead, he looks on at the TV and attempts to conjure up a topic that is the perfect blend of 'fifty year old women with nothing better to do than talk' and 'I'm in love with you, please admit you love me too' (the latter of which he has no idea where it comes from, because it's completely, absolutely, irrefutably not true). He settles.

"What's going to happen next?"

They've talked about it before. Of course they have, because it wasn't that long ago, and he's not as dumb as many people think. At least, he doesn't forget conversations after a short while of having had them, but he doesn't know if that in itself is classed as intelligence. He decides on yes to shut up his mind, that hasn't paused since Steve's arrival.

"It'll all be good," Steve says plainly, and Billy figures this is because he has nothing more specific to offer him. "Things'll go back to normal, at least as normal as they can be. You can go back to beating me up, I'll go back to taking it like a man."

Billy cracks up admittedly a little more than he should do at Steve's (rather unfunny) joke. Maybe it's because he's desperate for things not to fall back into silence, because he's  _done_ with silence now, and silence with Steve - while comfortable - is something he really doesn't want right now. 

"I don't want that," he lets himself admit, voice a little caught in his throat after not being used to tell the truth very often, "To beat you up, I mean. God knows things need to go back to normal."

It's Steve's turn to chuckle, then say, "If things go back to normal, you're going to have to beat me up. People might suspect something otherwise. People might talk - they like to talk, and you calling me pretty all the time doesn't exactly help our cause."

His voice has gone all mellow. It's not exactly wanton, but it's rich, dark, smooth like chocolate. It sends a shrill straight up Billy's spine, and he senses the tangible shift in tone in the room. He welcomes it.

"Still talking about me calling you pretty, Harrington?" He teases, "Sounds like you need validation."

"Maybe I do," Steve meets his eye, and there's a seductive smile playing at his lips. God, he does look pretty like this, but for once in his life Billy manages to bite his tongue and prevent himself from admitting it to the boy.

"You're going to have to get it somewhere else," Billy purposefully loses Steve's gaze briefly, liking how much more intense it feels when he returns, "I'm not a compliment machine."

"Mhm," Steve hums in agreement. Billy's not quite sure what he's agreeing with, nor if he's actually paying attention anymore, but he's not letting his eyes go, and it feels fantastic. He only drops Billy's gaze to look once more at his lips, and unlike the last time this happened Steve's the first one to start tipping forward.

It's amazing to Billy that, even though Steve's still relatively far away, he can already feel him like he's right in front of him. He's dipping his head in, maybe about five inches away, but the hot breath pouring from his lips onto Billy's face makes it feel like they've kissed already. He swears he can feel the ghosting of Steve's lips atop his own, and he's a little ashamed of how feminine he feels as he lets his long lashes flutter shut, anticipating the kiss he's been wanting for weeks - maybe longer.

Steve, ever the tease, takes his time in nearing him. Billy, ever impatient, takes instead to wrapping the fingers of one hand around the back of Steve's neck, digging in his nails a little to get a good hold on him, and pulls him forward. Due to their sitting positions, he feels Steve suddenly fall forwards, clearly not expecting the action, and he almost topples right over onto Billy, only stopped by his own hand landing on Billy's leg, holding himself up unsteadily.

He's so indescribably warm, so hot against Billy's lips. It's nice to feel somebody that's so obviously alive, and when fingers thread through the longer curls at the back of his head he knows Steve wants this, too. It's nothing like when Billy forces himself to kiss all those girls, just to prove to them (and whoever they decide to tell, usually everybody) that he's straight - yeah, that's a likely story now. 

There's a prolonged moment in which Billy's mind is just filled with the single thought, chanting to him,  _this isn't happening,_ but what he's physically feeling suggests otherwise. He can feel every move Steve makes, every little breath he takes in that's shallow and desperate, begging Billy for more. The hand that accidentally fell to Billy's thigh squeezes his leg, and Billy suddenly feels like he can't breathe. He pulls back reluctantly from Steve, who's wearing this little triumphant expression, and if Billy didn't know any better he'd say he'd been planning it all along. 

"Better than I thought," Steve feigns the persona of a food critic or such, offering him a nod of consideration and an in-turned smile.

"I'd have to try it again," Billy follows Steve as he moves a little back, feeling the urge to be as close as possible to him all of a sudden, "Just to be sure."

He's going to dip back in to kiss Steve another time when the other man picks up the hand from his lap and raises a sole finger to Billy's lips, preventing their mouths from ever touching. He shakes his head and looks at him coyly, his voice turning to a whisper as he speaks again.

"I'm not a kissing machine."

The teasing repetition of Billy's own words, twisted against him, makes Billy smile wickedly, but he feels empty when Steve stands and walks to the centre of the room. He doesn't even spare Billy a second glance as he walks over to the static-filled TV and shuts it off with a button on the side, and then he begins to walk over to the door, leading into the hallway. 

He's suddenly stopped as he makes to leave, as Billy grasps his wrist - not harshly, but firmly - and manoeuvres them so that he's got Steve pinned with his back against the wall, held down by his chest. He doesn't wriggle, doesn't make any move to leave or fight. He just looks at Billy, that smirk still painted on his lips, and it's even there still when Billy leans down as kisses him in a vain attempt to rid him of it.

Steve's arms, both newly freed of Billy's hold, immediately come up to wrap around his neck, threading his fingers through Billy's sandy hair. Billy lets himself wash, wallow, relish in the sensation, but then he regains control over himself and he pulls back first, intentionally this time.

"To answer your ever-insistent question, Steve Harrington," Billy uses a somewhat mocking tone to say his full name, titling him totally, then runs a hand sweetly down, through Steve's dark locks of hair, brushing them back and finishing, "Yes, I think you're very pretty."

Okay, so maybe Billy was impatient and rude and God knows he wasn't worthy of somebody like Steve, but the boy could always get through to him. He could get what he wanted, whenever he wanted, with the simply bat of his eyelashes, and Billy decided he would give it to him gladly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hope this was alright! I'm pretty sure no one asked for a continuation but I enjoyed writing it so here it is lmao. let me know if you liked it in the comments, ye who find this update!

**Author's Note:**

> I'm thinking about maybe making a second part to this, to wrap it up in a proverbial bow? Or maybe it's just best as a little angsty one-shot? 
> 
> Let me know what you think :)


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